


Let Me In (i'll be good to you, i swear)

by OhNoMyBreadsticks



Series: Don't Let It In [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Body Horror, Hopeful Ending, Horror, M/M, Monsters, Nightmares, Not Really Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoMyBreadsticks/pseuds/OhNoMyBreadsticks
Summary: Fletcher Allen may live an isolated life, but he's certainly not lonely.He's never alone, either.
Relationships: Captain Allen/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60
Series: Don't Let It In [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010376
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35
Collections: Quiet Life Bingo Fills





	Let Me In (i'll be good to you, i swear)

**Author's Note:**

> Look folks I know this is a weird one, but stay with me here. The concept of the story is essentially: Allen60 prairie AU, but make it scary. It's also a bingo fill for my Horror square.
> 
> There will be descriptions of a scary monster here, but nothing too graphic (I think). I've over-tagged (I think) to make sure everyone stays safe, but I welcome any feedback on tags/warnings that would help! Also there is no MCD here! Just a description of a character who is possibly dying of old age, but does not.

Fletcher Allen lived a quiet life. He had his farmstead, he had his crops to tend, and he had his home to maintain. His closest neighbor was miles away, waves of endless prairie grass the only sight that greeted him when he looked across to the horizon. Some might have said that he lived a lonely life, but Allen would have to disagree. There was very little time in the day to be lonely, for one. He worked hard to maintain a life on his own, planting in the spring, tending in the summer, harvesting in the fall, and mending in the winter. When he did stop to rest, he felt a sense of calm and peace to look up at the sky and see nothing but open air and clouds hovering above him. He had his reading by the light of the lantern at night, and other small tasks to keep his hands occupied on evenings when he simply wanted to stop thinking. 

Allen may have lived an isolated life, but he wasn’t lonely. He wasn’t even alone, really.

It was a tapping at first, slow and curious against the pane of the window. It didn’t wake him right away, because if Allen woke at every small sound outside his cabin he’d be awake all night. But it was so persistent, so regular, that his eyes eventually slid open, pupils narrowing to adjust to the dim light of the moon filtering into the room. He thought perhaps a branch had become stuck on the side of the cabin and was being pushed against the glass by the wind, but when he sat up to get a good look there was a distinct  _ movement _ outside the glass. The tapping stopped.    
  
Allen went back to sleep.

* * *

The tapping continued for days, keeping him awake as if it were trying to wear down his resolve and force him to investigate further. But in the morning, when he walked around the corners of his home he found nothing that could possibly make that sound. Perhaps it was but a bad dream, his mind inventing sounds and sights as a result of some stress. His crops had been suffering a little from the lack of rain this season. But just as he began to accept the tapping as part of his reality, the gnawing began. 

Allen was very familiar with the sounds of small animals. He had kept a rabbit as a boy, had listened to it gnaw at the edges of its cage all day and night. What began as the familiar tapping one moonless night slowly morphed into a gnawing sound. Teeth grinding against the wood of the cabin, slowly chipping away at the foundations of Allen’s home. That was enough to have him sitting up and slipping out of bed, bare feet hitting the rug and padding towards the window. If there really was something chewing at the wood, he’d need to get a trap, catch the thing, and maybe make a nice stew.    
  
Peering out into a darkness solely lit by stars, Allen’s eyes strained to try and pick out the shape of some small mammal. What they saw instead was...not right. It wasn’t an animal, couldn’t be. It was too large, unless his home was suddenly being invaded by unusually giant beavers who were miles from the nearest river. Too large? Or was it too small? It was suddenly only in the corner of his eye, and no matter how much he twisted his face to try and catch it, it was gone again. Something about it unnerved him, and Allen considered the possibility that he might need to start napping during the day, if only to be a bit more well-rested.

From that day on, Allen imagined he could see many things out the window of his cabin when the sun went down. Some of it had to be his imagination, truly, but there were parts that were just too recurring to be imagined. The shift of a shadow at the edge of his vision. The glint of some animal’s eyes in the distant field, reflecting light he couldn’t see. The sound of a mouth endlessly hungry for more. He closed his eyes more firmly and pulled the covers up around himself. Come morning, it would be gone.

* * *

“Let me in”

The whisper startled Allen from a dream, eyes snapping open. The moon was waning, her light dull through a heavy cover of clouds. His gaze travelled through the room, taking in all of his familiar possessions and finding no interloper.

“Please let me in” came the whisper again, the sound of the voice like a throat parched for water beyond repair, “I want to come inside.” 

Allen slowly looked to the window, and found a shape standing there. It was...well, it was no beast. But it was no human either. The eyes were large and luminous, peering in with the curious gaze of a child. There was no mouth with which it could speak, and yet it did. There was a silence, as it watched Allen try to puzzle through which piece of this nightmare was most unsettling. 

“Leave me be” He said finally, closing his eyes firmly, “I will not let you inside my home.” 

The sound of gnawing teeth was so familiar now that it barely hindered his return to sleep.

* * *

One night, Allen woke from where he had fallen asleep in his chair, the sewing needle gone from his fingers. He cursed softly, casting his eyes about in the last light of his dying fire, knowing that if he didn’t find it before he went to sleep he’d forget and step on it in the morning. Then he’d have a bloody foot and a ruined needle - two things that would require time and money to fix. 

“Lost something? Let me help you” The voice of the Thing spoke from outside, a burble in the back of its throat as if it had never known a life with thirst.

Allen looked to the window and saw it hold up a hand. Well, a facsimile of a hand, a hand shape that was covered in thin spikes. Needles, he realized, it was full of needles. It rapped its hand on the glass as if to make sure Allen could see, pressing some of the needles further into the shadowy palm. Its eyes watched in eager rapture as he got up from his chair, but soon twisted into narrow, angry slits as he doused the fire and clambered into bed. 

“I’ll find it myself tomorrow.” Allen announced with finality.

* * *

Weeks passed into months, months passed into seasons. Allen knew no peace from the Thing that lurked in the shadows. It didn’t speak every night, no, some nights it had a throat filled with gravel and glass, a grinding growl that made the windowpane rattle. Other nights it had teeth for grinding and gnawing, the points digging in so deeply that Allen was sure it would leave scars in the wood. But in the morning when he went to inspect, there was no damage, merely the feeling of a cold breeze, of eyes watching from afar.

Some nights it cried like a wounded hare and dripped liquid from its eyes. The faux tears puddled on the windowsill and tried to crawl up the glass. Allen turned over in bed to face the wall.

Other nights it howled, unleashing the sound of wind and hail, of bones snapped and flesh rent. It beat against the walls of the cabin, screaming in anger and frustration. Allen turned on his lantern and resolved himself to a sleepless night of reading. 

Most nights though, it pleaded. "Let me in" said the Thing softly, its face split into a smile that was just this side of threatening. It had gotten better at being human shaped, Allen had to admit, having all the right parts every time, but it still had the wrong legs. Human legs just didn't  _ bend _ that way when they moved. "Please, the wind is ever so cold" Allen said nothing, turning his back to the window to tend to his late supper. The wind was howling outside, true, but it carried with it the scream of cicadas.

* * *

While the Thing outside may have decided to never move on, time had no such illusions. Allen’s life shambled on, much as it had before he had met the Thing. His nights were longer, the days dotted with sleep, but he managed. He adapted to it, just as he adapted to the slow ache of his joints and the failing of his eyesight, the shake of his fingers as he mended clothing by the light of the lantern. The end of his story came upon him with such quiet certainty that Allen had no time to prepare - one evening he simply looked up at the ceiling and realized that he would never see the sun rise again.

“Let me in” said the Thing, its voice quiet like the silence of a hundred wasted days, a thousand conversations never started.

And Allen could find no reason to deny it, not now. What more did he have to lose, after all? 

“Come in then” He said, peering at the window through blurred eyes to see the way the Thing smiled. And it was smiling, he realized, smiling the whole while as it clambered through the glass as if it were made of nothing, as if the true barrier had been Allen all along. It crossed the room without the need for any sort of feet, shadows oozing across the floor and pooling around his bed like an inky well. 

Allen wasn’t certain what he expected, but the warmth of the Thing’s embrace was beyond his wildest imaginings. 

“Are you Death?” he asked softly, and the laughter of the Thing was all around him, even inside of his mind.

“Oh no, I am not Death.” It whispered, “And I do not intend to share you with him.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far you're a real MVP!! I appreciate you rolling with my weird bullshit lol. Any kudos or comments at any time are loved and cherished <3
> 
> I'm also available on [tumblr](https://ohnomybreadsticks.tumblr.com/) if you ever feel like chatting or reading some of my lil drabbles, I’d love to see you there C:


End file.
